


Forever Yours, Iris West

by GrittyReboot



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2019-07-16 13:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrittyReboot/pseuds/GrittyReboot
Summary: Every time I love a boy so much that I can't take it, I write them a letter. There are five in total, written over a period of 6 years. I would never think of sending them, but it comforts me to know that they exist. My emotions can’t crush me if I keep them in a box. To All The Boys I've Loved Before AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter of the To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before AU I promised. These won’t be very long at the beginning, but another chapter should be posted very soon.

**Chapter one: Scott, The Boy From Picture News**

Scott  and Linda are here again. I can remember a time not too long ago when Linda was just Linda and Scott was just Scott. Now they’re a pair, never one without the other. And since the three of us have been bffs since elementary school, Scott and Linda becoming  _Scott and Linda_ has since turned three best friends into the couple and the third wheel, i.e. me. 

The day they announced their boyfriend and girlfriend status, we were all sitting together in Jitters, the two of them shoulder to shoulder on a cushy padded bench. I sat in the single metal chair across from them because the bench only had room enough for two. I should have taken that as a sign. We’d been working on a big expose for the school newspaper together, and needed some time to unwind after nearly a full Saturday of grinding toward our deadline. I was prattling on at a mile a minute about the project between sips of my nitro brew, and I guess I hadn’t noticed how quiet they’d been the whole time, because Linda cutting in with “Iris, we need to tell you something,” startled me out of my excited rambling. They’d never been a  _we_  before, not without me, and still I wasn’t prepared for the words that followed.

“Linda and I are dating,” Scott said, because Linda couldn’t seem to get it out herself.

I just sat there, my eyes darting between the two of them, my hands clasped tightly around my mug like it was the only friend I had left, because that was what it felt like, like they were disappearing in front of me and nothing would ever be the same again, and the longer Scott talked, the stronger that feeling became.

It wasn’t Linda’s fault, she had no idea how I felt about Scott Evans, beautiful, brilliant Scott Evans, who was going to change the world one day with his words. I never told her how something in my chest went all screwy every time he smiled at me. I never told her how I liked to read his articles while wearing nothing but my cutest underwear. I never told her any of it.

If I would have admitted how I felt about Scott Evans, it would have changed things between the three of us, no matter which one I was admitting it to, it would have shifted something out of place and turned our perfect, comfortable union into something strange and foreign. So I kept it inside. But I never expected that hiding my feelings about Scott would allow Linda to explore her own.

They told me that they wouldn’t let it change things, and I guess that’s why they’re here right now watching _Last Week Tonight_  with me even though I’m sure they’d rather be someplace alone, making out. They’ve been together for over a year, and yet I still feel like every moment they spend with me carries an apology in it.

Linda snorts and guffaws at a joke that John Oliver just made. Scott smiles and nearly lets out a chuckle. As serious as he is all of the time, that almost-chuckle must mean that the bit was perfectly hilarious, and I can’t believe I missed it because my eyes were stuck on their fingers laced together.

“You’re laughing awfully hard. Is this why you’re moving to England babe?” Scott says. Linda is a year older than us, and bound for Oxford in three weeks while Scott and I will be returning to school for senior year. Scott tries not to let it bother him, getting emotional about things that aren’t world hunger or human trafficking isn’t his style, but I know he’s sad about it because I know him more than anyone, maybe even Linda.

“John Oliver doesn’t even live in England anymore Scott,” she says, and my brow knits in mild confusion. Whenever Scott calls her babe, she always calls him babe right back. If I noticed it’s only because I’m an investigative journalist, not because I’m still in love with Scott or anything.

“I know,” Scott says. “But every guy there is going to have that accent.”

“Don’t be jealous,” she says, kissing him on the cheek. She then stands up, putting his hand down. “I’m going to get a water, you two want anything?”

“Dr. Pepper” we answer at the same time.

“That stuff will rot your teeth you know,” she says.

“My 16 plus years of perfect dental checkups would argue otherwise,” I say.

“Just a matter of time,” she says, slipping into the kitchen. It’s my house, but Linda is practically a sister to me, which practically makes her another daughter to my dad, which practically makes it her house.

I turn to Scott and speak under my breath. “You know you can talk to me about it right?”

“Nothing to talk about,” Scott says. “We’re going to be just fine, she’ll spend a year at Oxford, I’ll spend a year absolutely killing it as Editor in Chief of Picture News—

“Co-editor in chief,” I remind him with a nudge. Our adviser Mr. Bridge couldn’t pick between us, while Scott’s stories are always airtight with data and compelling statistics, my stories have all of the color and humanity. It’s why he chose us both to succeed Linda, together we’re the perfect team. Sigh.

“Okay, Co-editor in chief,” he says begrudgingly. “And with my perfect grades and almost perfect test scores, I should be able to write my own ticket to Cambridge.”

“You’re going to Cambridge?” I ask, how did I not know this? How did I not realize that both of my friends were planning on ditching me? My grades are good, great even, but they aren’t Oxford or Cambridge good, too many Bs in science and math courses over the years. Besides, I’ve had my heart set on Howard university since I was a little girl, they both know that. Part of me even hoped that maybe Scott would choose Howard too, especially after that profile on HBCUs he put his whole foot in last year.

“I think it’s the right thing. Cambridge has a rich history, stellar academic programs and its student body is more diverse than you’d think.”

“85 percent white is diverse?” I argue.

“How do you know so much about Cambridge?”

“John Oliver went there,” I say with a shrug.

“Damn,” Scott says, shaking his head.

“Look, plenty of colleges in the US have rich histories and stellar academic programs, tell the truth Scott.”

He lets out a breath. “I don’t want this to end,” he admits. “I know, I know that isn’t like me, I don’t do impractical things but…”

“But you love her.”

He starts a slow nod, “But I love her, I mean. Why not try the expat life together and see where it takes us? It’ll be like Hemingway, only seasoned.”

“Don’t Hemingway novels usually end badly?” I argue, but before he can shoot back we hear a voice behind us.

_“You’re going to England?”_

We turn our heads swiftly to see Linda standing there, a bottled water and two Dr. Peppers balanced between her hands. Scott stands up and goes around the couch to meet her there. I can’t figure out her face, but she doesn’t seem excited by what she’s just overheard. How could she not be? If I were dating a guy like Scott, I’d be absolutely floored to know that he was following me to England.

“I was going to tell you,” Scott says.

“But what, you just forgot?” Linda says, her voice going higher, not with anger, it seems more like nerves, but judging by her expression it could turn into anger at any moment. This is going to turn into a fight, and I don’t want to be here for it.

“I thought you’d be happy, I mean…” there’s a pause, and he looks at me quickly, then back at her. “I mean why  _aren’t_  you happy?”

I get up quietly. “Iris, you don’t have to leave,” Scott says.

“Actually,” Linda says. “I think maybe we should go. There are things I need to say to you Scott. Only you.”

He scrubs a hand over his perfect waves, and nods. He takes her hand then, almost like a plea, and she holds it back, pulling him behind her and out the door.

“I look toward the kitchen while my dad steps out, drying a glass. “What was that all about?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “But I don’t think it was good.”

 ****

I haven’t gotten a text from Scott or Linda. It’s been hours since they walked out and I wish I knew what was going to happen. Linda looked so upset, Scott so confused. And I don’t think I’m happy about it. Yes, I may love Scott, but I love Linda too, and I don’t want to see either of them unhappy. I always thought of my crush on Scott as something just for me, something to tend to silently, and inwardly, like a succulent I keep in my closet with a UV lamp, only opening it every once in a while to give it water. This is why the day I found out that he was seeing her, I made a secret vow to never,  _ever_ tell him how I really felt. But I needed a place to put all of those feelings, to finally end the cold war I constantly fought with myself over him. So I did what I always do when I can't tell someone how I feel.

Every time I love a boy so much that I can’t take it, I write him a letter. There are five in total, written over a period of 6 years. I would never think of sending them, but it comforts me to know that they exist. My emotions can’t crush me if I keep them in a box.

I start to get a little restless when the clock on my phone hits ten with still no text. So I stand up and walk to my closet, I pull the chain to switch the light on and take down the box on the top shelf. It belonged to my mother. When she married my father she wore a beautiful long veil with beaded embroidery around the edges. It was sold to her in this box, white with dusty rose stripes. I swallow hard and open it, looking down at the letters. Scott’s is on the very top, and while I’ve sealed the rest, I haven’t been able to bring myself to do that with his just yet.  So I slip it out of the envelope and read.

_Dear Scott._

_I remember the first time I ever saw you. You were protesting the use of genetically modified vegetables in the cafeteria. We were seven, and I was smitten. Now we’re the best of friends, and you love someone else._

_I’ve decided I’m not going to stand in your way. When you really care for a person, you want them to be happy, and that’s all that I’ve ever wanted for you. But you have to understand Scott, even though I wish you all the best in the world, this is silently killing me. Every time I see your face, something inside of me flips, like I’m being switched on and everything works all of a sudden. I don’t want that feeling to go away but I know that it has to now._

_Whenever we’re talking, just the two of us, whether it’s about the plight of Syrian refugees or how ridiculous Barry Allen looks in his track costume, I feel like I’ve known you before. I feel like I’ve known you in every life that I’ve ever lived. Do you feel that way about Linda? Do your eyes follow her when she leaves a room the way my eyes follow you? If you really feel as happy and at ease and challenged at the same time when you’re with Linda as I do when I’m with you, then maybe she deserves you more than I do. Just know that if you would have loved me first, I would have given you everything. I was simply too late._

_Forever yours,_

_Iris West._

I take a deep breath, and slip it back into the envelope. It's time now. It's been time for a while. I lick the oddly flavored adhesive strip, and fold the flap down, sealing it tight, never to be opened again.

**Next chapter: Barry Allen, the boy at the party**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Barry, The Boy From The Party**

I fell asleep a little after midnight, and this morning I wake up to a single text from Linda.

Meet me on the stoop at 8 am :``(

I check the clock on my phone, it’s 7:59. I let out a curse and scramble into my robe and house shoes. It’s not that Linda won’t wait for me if I’m late, I’m just anxious to know what happened between her and Scott after they left, and what exactly the sad face emoji is all about. I dart past dad on the way downstairs and out the door, not processing what he calls out to me but thinking it probably has something to do with breakfast. It can wait. 

Linda Park, always known for her punctuality, is already sitting on the stoop by the time I open the front door. She’s chewing her thumb nail and tapping her shoe on the concrete.

“What took you so long?” she says turning her head to face me, I check the phone clasped in my hand again, it’s 8:01.

“I’m going to miss you as editor but not this part,” I sit next to her, nudging her with a shoulder. “What happened?”

She looks at me and I can see the salt water collecting in her brown eyes. She doesn’t have to say it, I already know, but she admits the truth anyway. “It’s over,” she says, and I stay quiet as she launches into her tearful confession, going over everything that happened with Scott last night. As it turns out, she’d been planning on breaking it off since the moment she got the acceptance letter from Oxford.

“Why?” I ask, dumbfounded. I knew how much fun they had together. They were having fun together just yesterday, the pet name omission from Linda notwithstanding. If there was a problem, shouldn’t she have said something sooner?

“I was going to tell him tomorrow,” she quickly wipes at a tear before it can completely escape. “It’s not that I don’t love him Iris, I love him as much as ever.”

“Then why break up with him?”

“Because our lives are already going in different directions. I’m going to be in England less than a month from now, how am I supposed to pretend that things are the same when I’m in a completely different world?”

“But he wanted to go with you.”

“Scott doesn’t want to go to England, for as long as I’ve known him all he’s been able to talk about is Northwestern this, Northwestern that.”

“People change their minds.”

“I don’t want to be the only reason that Scott uproots his life and all of his plans.”

There is a long pause that follows, and I can hear the sprinklers on the next door lawn squeak on. I hate to think that Linda is making sense. I know that in stories love can conquer all, it’s why I adore them so much. But this is life, and I know Scott well enough to be certain that he wouldn’t be happy at all in England. His love of sunny days alone would prevent that.

Linda starts to cry again, and I reach over to take her hand.

“I just wanted our last days as a couple to be good you know? Now I feel like I’ve messed everything up,” she says, laying her head on my shoulder.

“It’s okay,” I assure her. “Scott is strong, he’ll make it through this.”

“I hope so,” she says.

It’s quiet again for a while until I hear quick feet pounding the sidewalk. The noise gets steadily closer until I look up to confirm that it's him again. He runs in the morning, he runs at night, he runs at school, does he ever stop?

I let out a low groan. He’s running in those little ass dolphin shorts again, the ones that make his legs look even more freakishly long. I sometimes forget that Barry Allen’s house is just around the corner from mine, that he can show up at any moment to Barry up the situation.

“Hey you two,” He says, he starts running in place as soon as he gets to us, and I’m glad Linda has dried her tears for the time being. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yeah, it must be fate, or the fact that we live four houses away from each other.”

He laughs more than my quip calls for, and I give myself a second to take him in. Man, it’s... a lot. He has bright red sweat bands on his wrists, and another keeping his messy brown hair off of his forehead. He’s wearing a tank top so that his thin arms are on full display, and his feet, currently bouncing underneath him, are in red sneakers with the loudest neon yellow laces possible. I understand why he dresses like an idiot for track team, they all have to wear the same outfit, but this is summer, there is no excuse.

And yet, Barry is cute, he’s always been cute, and somehow his getup doesn’t distract from that as much as it should. Besides, he typically dresses like a normal person every time he isn’t running.

“So, I’m actually glad I ran into you, Felicity’s birthday is coming up, she’s doing this whole lazer tag thing but I didn’t see you on the guest list. It was probably a mistake, anyway, you game?”

“Well, seeing as Felicity and I haven’t been friends for over five years that’s going to be a no from me,” I say, and that’s exactly why I so often resent the close proximity of our houses.

“That can’t be right, aren’t you like super close with her cousin or something?”

“Cynthia and I have nothing to do with Felicity and I,” I say.

“Heh,” Barry says, knitting his brow, he’s still running in place, and I can’t for the life of me understand how he has all of this energy, his voice barely wavers when he speaks.

“How is the girlfriend anyway? Has she ruined anymore spelling bees lately?” Linda says. And I cringe a little, the same way I do every time I think about Felicity Smoak getting me disqualified from the finals our last year of junior high, because heaven forbid something not be about her for five seconds, I shake off the thought and offer Barry a tight, fake smile.

“Look, Felicity is still really, really sorry about that, but she’s impetuous, you know, she can’t always help it. I’m sure she’d love to have you though, senior year’s almost here, isn’t it about time to start burying old grudges?”

“In any case, I wasn’t invited, but you guys have fun okay?” I can hear the fakery seeping into my voice and I lowkey don’t like myself for it. But he smiles back and I know he’s none the wiser. Barry Allen has no self-awareness whatsoever.

“Sure thing,” he gives me a quick salute and starts off again, faster than before. I roll my eyes after him and look at Linda again.

“He is such a nerd,” I say.

“He’s like the most popular guy in school Iris.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not a nerd, it’s not my fault someone decided it’s cool to be awkward now.”

Linda laughs, I’m glad she’s feeling a bit better, even if it took a visit from the running goober to get her there. To this day I still can’t believe that the first love letter I ever wrote was for Barry, but it’s right up there in the pink and white box, reminding me that there was a time I didn’t think he was so bad at all.

The door opens behind us, and I turn to see Wally step out onto the stoop, “Breakfast is ready Iris,” he says before looking at Linda. “Linda, hi! Are you coming in too?”

My little brother Wally’s crush on Linda is about as adorable as it gets, but then again, he’s known her his whole life and she’s been stunning and nice just about the whole time. What chance did the kid ever stand?

“Sure hon,” she says standing up, Linda is short for her age and Wally is tall for his, so he stands about a half an inch above her, but when she ruffles his hair as she passes, he looks every bit the twelve year old, bashful and sweet.

We gather around the breakfast table, and Dad and Cecile are already at the head of it, he’s reading the paper and she’s pouring syrup on her stack of pancakes. Dad remarried last year, and while I wasn’t a fan of the idea at first, I have to admit it’s nice to see him happy again. God knows we need more of that going around.

“So, that Allen kid didn’t want to come in?” Dad says, not looking up from his reading. “I saw him talking to you outside the kitchen window.”

“Don’t get me started on that Allen kid,” I say, and reach for the syrup.

****

Barry wasn’t just my first letter, he was my first kiss. It happened at my then best friend Felicity’s party six years ago, we were eleven, which felt pretty grown up at the time, especially with her mom upstairs, uncensored Drake pumping out of the speakers, and everyone circled up for spin the bottle. I was as popular as Felicity back then, so everyone probably assumed that I’d kissed a bunch of guys already, but I hadn’t. So when Barry spun the glass coke bottle and the tip of it landed on me, I swallowed hard and tried to think of any excuse to get out of it.

Before I had the chance to say anything he was already shuffling toward me, his green eyes so focused that I couldn’t pull my own away.  He had a nice mouth, fuller than most other white boys at school, and I remember thinking the freckles on his neck were pretty cute too, that maybe it wouldn’t be too forward to touch that neck right as I kissed him. He didn’t let me dwell on that idea much longer. When he pressed his lips against mine, I stopped thinking altogether. It didn’t last long, there was no tongue or touching or anything like that, but it was nice in a way that I wasn’t expecting. Barry had soft lips, but not so soft that they felt ineffectual against mine, there was purpose behind those lips and when he pulled away, I wished it could have lasted longer.

I spent the entire week after thinking about that kiss, about how I wanted to do it again, maybe in a room with no people, definitely for more than just a few seconds. But there were a couple of problems with wanting to kiss Barry again. For one, my mom had only been gone six months by then, and while I knew it was okay to start doing fun things again, it still felt like more fun than I should have been  allowed to have, the kind of fun that might have made me forget about her for longer than I wanted to. Also, it was no secret that Felicity liked Barry, and going after him would 100 percent be against the girl code, the same code that would have later prevented Linda from going after Scott if I’d had the nerve to tell her how I felt.

In spite of having extremely valid reasons for not wanting to think about Barry, I still found myself thinking about him all of the time, to the point of actual distraction, to the point where I started to resent Felicity a little every time she talked about her crush. That was when I decided to put those thoughts somewhere where they couldn’t bother me anymore. As soon as I got home from school the second Friday after the party, I got out the stationary mom got me for my tenth birthday, and I started to write.

_Dear Barry,_

_I’m afraid I might like you. I always knew I liked the way your eyes seem green most of the time, but look blue at other times. I knew I liked the way you rub the back of your neck when you’re nervous. And I knew I liked the fact that you always have the right answers when Mr. Hinkley calls on you in math class. But after you kissed me at that party I started to think that I might really, legitimately like everything about you._

_I wish that we could kiss each other again, not just for a game, but for real, if only to see if it’s just as sweet and good when it’s only for us. Then maybe we could go to the movies and hold hands across the arm rest. I know you like those zombie movies, they aren’t my favorite but I think I would watch one if it meant getting to spend time with you more._

_And I know that you must like me too because you don’t kiss a girl like that without liking her at least a little. Am I right? Or am I just imagining things? If I’m right then you have no idea how happy that would make me. But if I’m wrong, and you don’t feel the same way, then I hope you know that kissing you was the first time in a really long time that I didn’t feel sad, that everything seemed like it was going to be okay and I could look forward again. So thank you Barry, no matter what happens next, thank you._

_Forever yours,_

_Iris West._

Needless to say, whatever I felt that made me write that letter is far, far in the past. And you better believe that’s where it’s staying.

**Next Up- Chapter 3: The First Day Of School**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, I do actually like Felicity as a character (Crossover notwithstanding) but I definitely think she has snarky mean girl qualities, so I'm going to enjoy writing her in a different light here, even though a redemption is in no way out of the question.

**Chapter 3: The First Day of School**

On the first day of senior year, I put on my new green sweater and tweed mini skirt, and I braid my long black hair to the side so it hangs over my shoulder. This is my last first day of school before college, so I need to make it a good one, whether Scott keeps ghosting me or not. I can understand Scott avoiding Linda the last three weeks of summer, but me? I wasn’t the one who broke up with him, yet he hasn’t answered my texts with anything more than vague, one word responses. And of course it’s at the back of my mind that we’re co editors of the student newspaper together, but I’ve never had a problem separating the personal from the professional when it comes to Scott. When we’re in the newsroom together our number one focus is always getting the next big scoop.

This will be fine, I may not have Linda, I may not even have Scott, but at least I can’t call myself friendless. Me and Cynthia have three classes together this year. Cynthia is Felicity’s cousin through marriage, although I’m not sure who in their families is married to whom.  She said she’ll meet me out front so we can walk in together, just in case Felicity tries to corner me again. 

She’s been doing that ever since she started going out with Barry Allen, and I still don’t really get why. I haven’t had those feelings for Barry in years. I’m not even sure why I ever did in the first place except for maybe the fact that he has pretty eyes, and is smarter than most guys at school. But he’s still goofy, and never really says the right thing and is completely oblivious to the fact that Felicity and I aren’t friends until I have to remind him for the 300th time.

Me and Wally pile into the car so I can drive him to his school before I drive myself to mine. It’s Linda’s car, she asked me to take care of it while she’s gone because that’s just the kind of damn good friend she is. I’m reminded of just how much I’m going to miss her yet again as I turn the key in the ignition and hear it roar to life.

“So, do you think Linda’s going to visit for Christmas?” Wally asks faux-casually as we pull out of the driveway and start down the street, the stereo playing some punk band he loves. 

“Oh my God,” I roll my eyes and smile at him. “You aren’t even subtle Wally, you know she’s too old for you right?”

“She’s only six years older, Priyanka Chopra is ten years older than Nick Jonas.”

“Since when are you so into celeb couples?” I ask, and he stays quiet. “Please don’t tell me you Googled celeb couple age differences so you could find out if you and Linda have a chance.”

“No,” he says unconvincingly, and I shake my head as he turns up the music.

We pull up to the front of his school, and there is a girl with sandy brown hair and blue eyes standing facing the street while a horde of overexcited tweens rush around behind her. She waves as I pull up and Wally waves back. 

“Who’s that,” I ask, trying not to tease. I’ve gotten enough sisterly teasing out of my system for the morning, although I’m still curious.

“Oh, that’s Jesse,” he says. “She’s just a friend,” he adds quickly as if he’s reading my mind. “Have a good first day all right sis, try to meet some people.”

“I have to say I’m feeling a little dragged by you over here, shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

He smiles and gives me a little goodbye wave. He’s such a twerp, but I wave back.

“I love you,” I say.

“love you, too,” He says before walking off with Jesse. And I’ve always liked that about Wally, no matter how much of a brat he can be sometimes, he’s never embarrassed to say it back. 

 

I get to school half an hour early. Although I start to wish I would have stopped for coffee first when I realize how packed the front lawn is with students, hugging each other hello after their summers apart, telling vacation stories back and forth, flipping through Instagram photos.

Was it always like this before Linda left?

I start making my way through to the double doors in front. I don’t keep my head down, it isn’t my style, but I hope no one tries to accost me for a summer break recap that I can’t possibly make interesting for them. I spent most of it either hanging out with my baby brother or another couple. Deep down I know how sad that is, that Wally’s right and I need to meet people. And I used to love having lots of friends, places to go on Saturdays, but then… 

I don’t know, being little miss social butterfly again feels besides the point. Popularity just isn’t as important as anyone thinks it is. It can’t make you happy when you’re already so sad.

Speak of the Devil, I stop short when I see her there, in front of the double doors like she was planning this. She looks great as usual, her perfectly tousled blonde hair down from its signature ponytail, her horn rimmed glasses sitting on her nose like they’re meant to make her look more approachable, but are doing about as good a job as they did on Rachel Leigh Cook in She’s All That. Jesus Christ I should have went through the back. 

I turn on one heel and try to redirect before she sees me.

“Iris, hey!” she says, and I squeeze my eyes shut and curse under my breath at her fake-cheery voice. She saw me. 

I turn back around and fake a smile, feeling a bit like a hypocrite.“Felicity,” I walk up to her like I have weights in my shoes. “How was your summer?”

“Awesome!” She says, nearly exploding like she’s been holding her breath until she could tell me. “Coding camp in Tokyo was ba-nanas. You so should have come. I mean I know coding’s not really your thing.”

“It’s not  _not_  my thing, just kind of focused on journalism right now.”

“That’s great, and it’s so cool that you’re into old fashioned things but do you really think a newspaper reporter is a solid career path these days? I mean papers are dying everywhere.”

“Gee, I don’t know Felicity, maybe I’ll call you from my cardboard box in ten years and give you an update.” 

I start for the entry bar, but I’m told to stop by the only voice I want to hear as little as Felicity’s”

“Iris, Felicity, what’s up?” Barry says cheerfully as he walks up to us. He always says my name first when I’m standing next to Felicity and I don’t get why. He’s so weird in every possible way and I wish Cynthia would come rescue me already.

Barry slinks his arm around Felicity and gives me a friendly nod. “How was your summer?”

The dreaded question, I reply with a simple, noncommittal, “cool.” My hand is still on the entry bar of the door.

“Just cool, no details?” Barry says.

“Nope, not a one.”

“There probably just aren’t a lot of summer internship programs or camps for journalism anymore,” Felicity says in such a way that Barry can’t detect how bitchy she’s being. Not like he’d defend me anyway, and honestly, why should he? I’m not his girl.

“That’s ridiculous,” Barry says, like he means it. “I mean, I read your articles all the time there’s no way there’s not something out there for you.”

Why does he always insist on complimenting me in front of her? He must know that it pisses her off, unless he really is that dense. I guess book smarts and emotional intelligence are two entirely different things. But I see the way her face changes, how her eyes narrow a bit. She reaches up to play with the collar of his button-down.

“By the way Iris, I’m really sorry you didn’t get an invite to my laser tag party. If I had known you wanted to go I’m sure I could moved some things around and squeezed you in,” Felicity says.

 _Goddamnit Barry_ , I think to myself, of course he told her about our asinine conversation the other day. And right now I’m finding it hard to pick who I want to strangle more.

“I never said I wanted to go, I was busy that day anyway.”

“That’s what I told her,” he says, looking a bit embarrassed. “That’s what I told you,” he quickly repeats over to her.

Felicity shrugs, “Heh, must have misheard. In any case it was a blast.”

I finally push the entry bar, ready to make my escape, when by some annoyingly belated miracle, Cynthia finally shows up, seemingly out of nowhere like the practical ninja she is. She even wears all black like one.

“What up uglies?” she says, nodding at them as she hangs an arm around me. 

“Hey cuz,” She says to Felicity. “Good to see you’re feeling better after that bug you caught in Tokyo.”

“Bug?” I ask, finally curious about the summer vacation Felicity’s been desperate to lord over me.

“Yeah, didn’t your mom tell my mom that you were basically catatonic with plane flu the entire first week and you had to be separated from the other kids and you never got to finish your app or something?” Cynthia continues.

“No, that- none of that happened, I mean it didn’t happen like that,” Felicity babbles anxiously. It must have happened exactly like that, and I feel suddenly redeemed. Thank you Queen Cynthia.

“Hmm,” Cynthia shrugs, “Must have misheard, anywho, catch ya later.”

She hooks arms with me and we finally slam through the door.

“Not a moment too soon,” I say.

“Ignore her, she’s just pissy because you look amazing. I bet she was hoping you’d show up to the first day with a massive zit or a bad haircut or the herps or something.”

“You have a very odd way of lifting my spirits Cynthia.”

“I do my best.”

I nudge her playfully, feeling better. Maybe I don’t have loads of friends, but it’s nice to have one awesome one, even if I had to survive my ill-fated friendship with Felicity to get it. 

 

The day goes by glacially. It’s still at the back of my mind that it’s the first day of school, but it feels just like any other day, like the work is too easy and the folks in the halls are too gossipy and everything sucks and I want to go home. By the time last period rolls around, I’m relieved, not only because it’s nearing the end of the day, but because my last period is journalism. The student newspaper is my ultimate safe space, even with things being uncomfortable with Scott. 

As always he’s the first one in class, already jotting down something in a notepad. I sit at the same table to show that we’re still cool, but still two chairs away to give him his space.I take out my notebook too, even though I can’t think of any notes to write down when we haven’t even been assigned our beats for the semester. 

I look over at him, and realize he’s looking at me too.“Hey there,” I say with an uncertain voice.

“Hey yourself.” he says back. It’s quiet and nearly awkward as we both think of what to say next. He wore that checkered shirt today, with the sleeves rolled up, and I really hope one day I can look at him without picturing him laying me down on this table. I’d never go there, I’d never do that to Linda, but I can’t always help where my imagination wanders, even when I’m mad at him.

“Look,” he says before I can slip too far into my mind. “I’m sorry I’ve been distant, it’s just, the whole Linda thing and—

“Its okay, really,” I say, and I realize that it is. Maybe it’s just the thrill of being in journalism again, the smell of pulp and toner cartridges and red pens. But I’m finding it hard to stay mad at Scott, even as he still looks like he’s not sure what’s next

 “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Before I can say anything else, the rest of the students and Mr. Bridge start to pour in. I give Scott one last smile before turning my attention to the front of the room. I can tell there’s still tension in the air, and maybe Scott can too, because next thing he leans over to whisper.

“I missed you,” and I whisper that I missed him too.

 The first day of student newspaper is always a little bit uneventful. Nothing has happened yet so there aren’t any real stories to break. Mostly we just get reaquainted with each other and get to know the newbies, pitch potential story ideas, and anxiously await our beat assignments.

Scott’s beat this year is the art and drama departments, not his first choice, but one he’ll happily sink his teeth into. My beat is the math and science departments, because of course it is. Mr. Bridge says that I’m too good a writer to not ever leave my comfort zone, and that important things were happening in those departments this year. But all I can imagine is having to cover Felicity’s stupid IT club. 

And I realize I’m thinking about her again when I really don’t want to be. Why does she have to be such a bitch to me all of the time? She wasn’t always. She was a good friend once, and I know that good friend is still in there somewhere. 

I head out to Linda’s loaner car, thinking that aside from gently starting to get things back to normal with Scott, this is already looking to be the quite the sub standard school year. And when I hear that too familiar voice again behind me, that feeling is instantly multiplied.

“Iris, hey Iris,” Barry calls, and I turn to face him but grab for my keys at the same time.

“I really don’t have a lot of time Barry, I have to pick up my brother.”

“I promise I’ll be quick.” He stops in front of me and I decide to hear him out. But he just stands there, looking at me.

“Well, what?” I say, breaking the pause.

“Yeah, right sorry," he says, scrunching his face a little. "I just wanted to apologize for this morning. I guess I didn’t realize it in the moment but Felicity was being sort of not cool back there, and I just, I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her, I promise.”

“Please don’t” I say, knitting my brow in frustration. “You talking to your girlfriend about me is exactly the problem.”

“I wasn’t talking about you. You just came up and then the party came up. I didn’t know it was going to be a whole thing.”

“It’s not a whole thing. But is it really so much to ask that you two leave me alone? I mean, Felicity obviously has some issue with me, and maybe it’s not exactly one-sided but I think it would be easier for everyone if you’d just, you know, lay off.”

He sighs, and rubs his forehead before looking at me again. “That’s fair,” he says. “And I really am sorry, again. It’s just—

“What? It’s just what?”

“Nothing, nevermind. Okay, we’ll lay off. Promise.”

“Good.”

“Okay.”

There’s another long pause before I walk around to the driver’s side of my car and duck in. By the time I drive off he’s still standing there, like the conversation isn’t over.

 

**Next up: Chapter 4: The Sad Girl**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering when the shit is going to hit the fan, the answer is a lot sooner than you may think. Also, to those following Heart In A cage, that will be updated even sooner.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Sad Girl**

When Saturday rolls around, I spend a short time wondering if I should go out. I go so far as to make a half-cocked attempt at planning a trip to the movies, but Scott has a family thing, so he’s out, and Cynthia has a date so she’s out too. I know I shouldn’t be relieved, but I am, least of all because Fefe and her pet dweeb have been popping up everywhere all week and I refuse to accidentally run into them again on my own time. Luckily, Barry knows not to talk to me anymore, and he sensibly cuts Felicity off every time she starts to steer into asshole territory, but just seeing them at all is enough to make my entire body clench.

That’s why I plan on spending the weekend with my brother, the one guy I really trust anymore. _Coming to America_ , Our favorite movie, just hit Netflix again and we’re watching it with the biggest horde of popcorn and candy known to man. We already have the movie on DVD and Blu Ray, but it's reappearance on the streaming service still feels like cause for mini celebration.

“Boob alert!” I say, hitting pause frantically as Prince Akeem’s bath scene pops up. I’ve seen this one a million times and I always manage to forget about the nudity.

“I’ve seen boobs on TV before sis,” Wally says, rolling his eyes instead of shutting them.

“I’m not thinking of you, I’m thinking of me and how highly awkward it is to look at boobs with my kid brother, if you won’t shut your eyes then this seems like the perfect time for a soda refill.”

I hit play again and get up just before the naked women pop up out of the water. I go into the kitchen, Dad and Cecile are cooking dinner and it smells like roasting poultry in here.

“Are you sure that’s an appropriate movie for Wally?” Cecile says, taking a break from cutting up a tomato for the salad.

“Nope,” I reply casually. “But he was ruined ages ago, blame Roy Harper and his bootleg copy of ‘I Spit On Your Grave’ in fourth grade.

Cecile laughs and starts again at chopping the tomato.

“What about you?” dad says as he peeks into the oven. “I’m sure there are more teenager friendly things you can be doing right now.”

“Here we go,” I groan deeply as I open the refrigerator and grab a half full two liter out.

“I’m just saying, there’s a big world out there honey, no use in making it smaller your senior year.”

“I still miss the days when you were overprotective and crazy.”

I pour the soda quickly and put the two liter bottle back in before dad can say another word. When I join Wally in the living room again, the onscreen boobs have long passed.

“Dad has a point, you know,” Wally says.

“What do you have super hearing?” I say.

“Nope,” he says, shrugging. “Just nosy.”

“I’m not gonna argue with you there kiddo.”

He gets quiet, but there's a weight to the silence, like he's contemplating what to say next.

“I’m just saying, and no offense, but I’m 12 and I cancelled plans to hang out with you tonight.”

He should have kept it at contemplating. I hate that he's a kid and I can only ever be so mad at him for being a jerk.

“Wow, that is way harsh Wally.”

He looks up at me to interpret my silence, and his stupid face does seem sorry, so I toss a handful of popcorn at him to let him know we’re cool. But maybe what he said, and what Dad said, did get to me a little. Was I really so abnormal?

After the movie, Wally goes up to his room to do some online video game thing with his friends and I step outside to feel the cool night air on my face. If it weren’t in the wee hours of the morning over in England, I’d call up Linda to see how she is and tell her that I miss her. I knew that I would the moment she left, but I didn’t expect it to hit quite so hard. She at least would have come over for a night of Eddie Murphy and popcorn if she knew I’d rather stay in, and she wouldn’t have given me crap about it either. In fact, I think Linda might be the only person who understands why I started to pull into myself and avoid all but a handful of people. Linda was easier to trust with that sort of thing even more than my family was, because as much as I knew Linda worried about me, I also knew that she’d never try to change me.

I look up at the stars, thinking they look impressively bright tonight, like the city must be darker than usual out there. Maybe I’m not the only one sitting at home after all, maybe everyone is needing a break right now. I like watching stars, most of the time they never move, but they still seem like they're putting on a show. A romance maybe. I know I can be cynical, and antisocial, but unbeknownst to most people, I'm into that sort of thing. Why else would I have written those letters? It was a writing exercise, and a way to be in my feelings away from watchful eyes. But I also wrote them because I legitimately enjoy the idea of being in love, even if it is just an idea. Mom and Dad were in love, so I know that it can be real, but she still died, it still ended, and he still moved on. I love Cecile, but her being here will always remind me that loving only one person forever is only a thing in stories. And maybe that's what the letters truly are, just stories.

Right before I decide to stand up and head back into the house, I hear that sound, that annoying, bizarrely familiar sound. How do I always know when it’s him running toward me? Do his feet fall in such a specific way that it can’t be mistaken for anyone else?

I try to get inside the door faster but not nearly fast enough, because he calls out to me before I can properly twist the knob.

“Hey Iris,” he says, but his voice doesn’t sound like it usually does when he says my name, it doesn’t sound inappropriately cheerful in that way that makes me want to violently flick his ear until he snaps out of it. He sounds sad, almost choked up really, and my annoyance fades into concern.

“Are you okay?” I say, letting go of the knob and turning to face him.

“I’m fine,” he says, catching his breath. “Everyone gets dumped sooner or later right?”

Before I can say another word, he’s run off again.

 

By Monday, I’ve mostly forgotten about my weird encounter with Barry Allen. High school relationships end all the time, and even if I do feel weirdly sorry for Barry, and even Felicity, it’s not enough to stick with me through the weekend.

It isn’t until I make my way down the hallways that I’m taken back to the other night. Unsurprisingly, Felicity is right there by the lockers for the world to see, surrounded by well-wishers. I don’t know why they broke up or who’s fault it was, only that Felicity dumped Barry and not the other way around. And yet, she’s the one being consoled.

“I just thought we were different you know, special,” Felicity cries, dabbing her cheeks with a Kleenex. 

“The only thing special about Felicity and Barry is Felicity,” Her friend, Caitlin I think, says. Of course I know that’s bull. I have a couple of classes with Caitlin and she’s always singing Barry’s praises. I promise that I never try to absorb any of this stuff, being a journalist just means being naturally observant, and that proclivity gives as well as it takes. I pass to my locker before I take in another sad word.

I manage to get through trig, AP Lit, and AP US History without another whisper of secondhand drama, and by lunch I’m feeling relatively positive about the day. Scott and I are supposed to sit together so we can discuss the Teacher’s Union story we’ll be assigning to two hopeful underclassmen. To be perfectly honest I’d love to tackle that one myself. It’s the kind of piece that if executed properly will bore the student body to tears but get college admissions guys in death match mode over whoever wields the byline. Unfortunately, part of being Co-editor in chief is to delegate and lead, which sometimes means sacrificing the big, important scoops.

I flip through the notes I’ve already jotted down on this piece, because there’s only so much I can help myself. I keep going even when Scott takes the bench across from me, and I launch into the idea storm that’s been brewing since early Sunday.

“So I jotted down a few notes, thoughts you know? It’s mostly Just stuff that I’ve sort of heard through the grapevine and general speculation. I also took the courtesy of taking down all the important phone numbers, email addresses and URLs I think our staff picks are going to need. By the way, I think Kara Danvers would be perfect for this, she’s bright, she’s curious she’s everything this story needs, and I—

I stop mid ramble when I realize I can feel the silence on the other side of the table. Usually Scott would have interrupted me two sentences ago. I finally look up at him. He looks weird, almost edgy, his hands clutching his backpack straps for dear life, his eyes wide and frantic.

“Scott, what’s up? You look like you just found out Don Lemon died.”

“Um Iris, I really think we need to talk.”

“Oh yeah,” I say, letting my notebook fall closed. “About what?”

He’s silent as he removes one strap of his backpack and swings it around to his side, unzips it and reaches in.

And when he takes it out, it’s almost as if my blood freezes a split second before even seeing it. It’s Scott’s letter, in a pulpy brown envelope with a big Malcolm X stamp in the corner, his address in thick, sturdy black ink, just the way I wrote it. It’s neatly unsealed across the top, like he used a letter opener because of course he would. He definitely opened it, which means he definitely read it.

And I think I have to go die now.

**Next Chapter: Leo Snart, The Boy From Homecoming**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Leo, The Boy From Homecoming**

 

I need to breathe, breathing is important right now. This doesn’t have to be the end of the world. People love getting love letters, right? And yet, Scott doesn’t look happy. He looks as confused as I feel right now. I’m more or less aware that there are other people in the cafeteria, chatting away with their pizza and side salads in tow. And yet I feel like no one can save me. I may as well be in a tiny interrogation room, locked away from the rest of the world with only a weakly flickering light bulb for comfort.

“Iris,” he says. “Do you want to explain this? Because I have to say, I’m a little lost here.”

Do I want to explain it? Can I? The truth makes me sound crazy, and I can’t think of a lie that would make me sound any less crazy. My hands start to clam and my heart goes double time. Is this a panic attack? I don’t know, all I know is I can’t be here.

I get up from the lunch table, knocking my bottled water over onto my notes. I scramble to gather them up, not bothering to blot them with my napkin first, and I shove them into my backpack.

“Iris, wait,” he says. But I don’t listen, I zip my bag haphazardly, a crumpled, damp page of notes sticking out between the metal teeth, and I dart out of there immediately, leaving Scott’s frantic pleas in my dust.

I run into the closest bathroom, which is mercifully empty, and I shut myself inside of the stall. I try to breath as evenly as I can, needing to think straight again. What can I possibly tell Scott to make all of this okay? He dated my best friend and practical sister for a whole year. They were in love and probably still are. What kind of a terrible person would I be to go after him now with the break up still so fresh in his mind? I know it’s what he must be thinking.

Once I get a chance to halfway calm down, I start to think of an explanation. I could say it’s a forgery, that might work. The why of it all may be harder to explain, but at least it’s something. But who would I even blame this on? Felicity? It actually seems like something she'd do, the only problem is, if I don't know for sure then blaming her would make me every bit as bad as she is. Also, Scott knows my handwriting, and he's smart enough to catch the slightly off details in a fake. It's too risky an excuse on all fronts.

In the next moment I hear a light tapping on the stall door, and I’m jerked out of my racing thoughts.

“Iris, that you in there?”

I recognize the deep, lilting voice, even though we haven’t talked much since he got back from his semester abroad in Switzerland. I glance beneath the stall door to make sure, and I see his clean, powder blue hightop Vans. 

“Leo?” I ask, my voice small.

"Yeah, it's me." he responds. I get up to open the stall door.

“Hey,” he says. He sounds nervous, and my cheeks start to flame again. No. No way. The universe couldn't possibly hate me this much.

He pulls the envelope out of his pocket and my heart almost seizes. His envelope is dark blue, with sliver printing on the front and an Antarctica stamp. When we went to Homecoming together Freshman year, the year I wrote that letter, he’d mentioned wanting to live there for a couple of years after college to conduct his research. He wanted to do his part to slow climate change and had all sorts of ideas on how to start. I didn't fully grasp any of those ideas. I just thought it was interesting that anyone would want to live in Antarctica. In fact I thought everything about him was interesting.

I’d only asked him to homecoming that year because we were friendly in homeroom, everyone else was paired up, and it was too down to the wire to be choosy. But I’d had a great time with him that night. He was funny, smart and cute, and for a little while, I thought he’d be the one to make me forget about Scott. Then he'd started dating Sara Lance, I'd started crushing on Scott even harder than before, and the rest was history.

“That isn’t what it looks like,” I say.

“Oh,” he says. He puts the letter back in his pocket. “Good.”

I can’t lie, that one stings a little. Jesus Christ, is there no one out there who might be at least a little happy to get a love letter from me?

“It’s just, you know that I’m gay, right?” He explains.

And no, I didn’t know that. He’d dated Sara for over a year, they'd been a cute couple. I'd figured the only reason they’d broken up at all was because neither of them wanted to be tied down while he was in Switzerland. Then she started dating Ava Sharpe and Leo came home and started getting really tight with Ray Terrill and his model UN buddies and…

Oh.

Well I guess no one can be up to speed on everything.

“I guess I know now,” I say sheepishly.

“Um… are you okay? I saw you running in here and you seemed kind of—

“Like my life is over? Yeah, that’s putting it mildly. I go to the sink and start washing my hands, if only because I need something to do besides stand here and look ridiculous. I try not to think about the fact that if Scott got his letter, and Leo got his, then maybe Eddie Thawne from camp is in Minnesota, reading his. Or James Olsen from Middle School Newspaper is in his dorm room in National City with his, just as confused as the others.

And then there’s Barry Allen.

I say a silent prayer that Barry of all people, is not currently aware of all of the feelings I had for him when I was eleven. I can’t possibly unpack that potential disaster right now.

I shut the water off with a squeak and flick the stray drops of water off of my fingers.

“Look, don’t worry about it. I’m actually super flattered. I mean, look at you, you’re absolutely gorgeous.”

I look at him with a small smile as I wave my hands under the famously ineffective hand dryer. There's a silent thank you in my eyes. I know it’s shallow, but hearing I’m gorgeous can only make me feel better in this situation. It’s not like I can feel much worse.

“In fact, I’d love to go out with you, if I weren’t, you know.”

“Yeah,” I say with a half-choked laugh. I finish drying my still damp hands on my denim skirt.

He looks at me earnestly, his eyes wide and strikingly blue against his tanned skin. And I don’t know why, maybe because he's being so nice, maybe because he's uninterested for reasons having nothing to do with me, but he feels like the only person I can tell the truth to right now. I need someone to know so I can feel a little less absurd in my own skin.

“I wrote it a while ago. It’s this thing that I do. Whenever I like someone, like a lot, I write them a letter. It’s just something to sort out my feelings. It wasn’t meant to get sent. In fact, I don’t know who sent it otherwise you’d be witnessing a murder right now.”

“Wow, that’s humiliating.”

I’m guessing he can sense my slight mortification at his comment, because he clarifies.

“Not that you’d write it, that’s not humiliating. Just the lack of control, you know. If somebody had actually sent all of the crumpled up love notes I wrote to Barry Allen before I got with Ray then I’d probably want to crawl into a hole and die. But then again, I’m nowhere near the writer you are.”

 _Why didn’t we stay friends?_ I wonder to myself.

“You have a crush on Barry?”

“ _Had_ , ancient history, crushing on a straight guy is a fool’s errand at best.”

I guess crushing on a gay guy was too, for me. I must have been the reason my feelings for Leo didn't last. I open my mouth to speak again, to thank him out loud for not making this worse, but before I can get the words out, a couple of chatting girls drift in. One cavalierly smacking a pack of cigarettes against the palm of her hand like an 80s movie bad girl cliche.

“Hey, girl’s room,” one of them says to Leo as the other makes a beeline for the window, all the better to smoke out of I guess.

“I was just leaving,” Leo says. He turns to me again. “But are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

I nod my head, even though I’m not sure if I’m going to be okay at all.

 

****

 

I have Gym class after lunch, and thankfully it doesn’t seem like anyone in the girl’s locker room is wise to my complete and total social homicide. If I can get through the rest of the day without another boy accosting me with a letter, then I'll consider the day only 98.8 percent trash. We’re running the mile to start things off. It's ideal because I don't have to talk to anybody for a while longer. Also, I like to run, and am pretty good at it, maybe not as good as Barry, but he’s a mutant.

Thinking about Barry again makes my stomach flip. I still hope against hope that the letters were only sent to Scott and Leo. Leo was cool about it, and while I'm not ready to face Scott yet, I can handle avoiding one person. I can’t avoid Barry if I try, I never can.

Even if it’s a bad day in every other way, at least it’s a good one for running, the air is clear and dry, and the first hints of autumn cool are lingering in the air. I join the girls on the track and try to clear my head as our feet batter the rust colored ground. I focus only on running, not Scott, not Leo, and especially not Barry.

But trying not to think about him becomes immediately impossible. In my sideeye, I see him entering the field though the gate. There is something bright yellow in his hand, and I convince myself that it’s a small book or something before focusing my eyes directly on the track again. He won’t get a chance to come near me. This isn’t his class, the teacher will tell him to leave before he can get close. I look over to where she usually stands to make sure she’s watching us, but of course she’s nowhere to be found. I run faster instead. Barry is fast, but I have to somehow will myself to be faster, find that hidden adrenaline inside me like those mothers who lift cars off of their infants.

“Iris! Iris wait,” Barry yells. It doesn’t take long for him to catch up to me, and he begins running evenly by my side. I might have to fact check that whole lifting cars off of babies thing.

“Not now, I’m busy,” I say, and try to speed up. It’s no use, he’s the fastest man alive apparently.

“Um, can we maybe talk about this?” he says, holding up his letter, golden yellow with red ink and a periodic table of elements stamp. I had debated forever whether to pick a stamp associated with science or track, his two favorite things. In the end I decided on science, since it never seemed like anyone appreciated that side of him, except maybe Felicity. It's one of the reasons they like each other. Or I guess I should say, _liked_ each other.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I lie.

“Are you sure? because I have to say, this letter’s pretty intense.”

I’m starting to run out of breath. I need to slow down, but I don’t want to make talking to him easier on myself, so I keep up my insane pace.

“I’ve never seen that thing before in my life,” I lie again. With Scott, I avoided the subject entirely. With Leo, I told the truth. Now with Barry, lying is the only thing that makes sense, the only thing I can manage, even if the lie is complete nonsense.

“Well, I hope that’s true, because as you know, me and Felicity just broke up. I’m just not really ready to—

“Iris!”

I look for the voice that just interrupted us, the terrifyingly familiar voice. My eyes dart toward the fence again as I continue to run, ignoring my burning lungs and the pain spreading in my side. It’s Scott, because of course it is. Why wouldn’t he try to find me at the least convenient time possible? And where the hell is the teacher?

“Iris, we need to talk,” He yells as he starts toward me. I can’t outrun this, no matter how much I want to. So I don’t, I stop, and Barry stops too. It’s an ambush, Barry to my left, Scott approaching to my right, me in the middle, unable to handle a second more. I know I haven’t been thinking straight since Scott pulled out his letter, so I’ll chalk it up to temporary insanity, my lightheadedness from sprinting a quarter mile, and the fact that while dealing with Barry right now is hard, dealing with Scott is next to impossible. Besides, Barry is close enough to grab, so I do.

Before I even know what’s happening I take Barry by the front of his shirt and pull him into me. As it turns out, his lips are still soft, and surprisingly reactive considering the circumstances. He’s shocked stiff, but only for a second. Once it passes, it’s almost like he’s kissing me back. There’s no tongue, and there’s no hands, but his lips are actively moving against mine. I peer out of one eye at Scott, frozen solid on the field, and I kiss Barry more insistently, not letting up until Scott finally turns away and leaves.

I break the kiss then, and my senses start to flood back. I realize only now that by making one problem go away, I’ve just made another problem a whole lot worse.

"Okay, I give up." I say, my breathing harsh and ragged. "Let's talk."

**Next Up, Chapter 6: Let's Make A Deal**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Let’s Make A Deal**    
  
I’ve been pacing for the last minute. I just can’t will myself to be still. Barry, on the other hand, is locked in place, sitting on the bench in the tree-lined courtyard behind the track and field area. His arms are crossed and his eyes are following me as I drift back and forth over the grass, contemplating the mess I’m in. I still don’t understand what came over me back there, how I could even begin to think I was making the situation better. I kissed Barry Allen, and people saw. How long will it take for word to get back to Felicity? She was intent on making my life a constant annoyance even before my colossal miscalculation in judgment.

“So, you said you were ready to talk,” Barry says carefully, scratching above his ear. “Don’t words typically need to be exchanged to constitute talking?”

I stop mid-pace and look his way, feeling on edge. He’s bothering the hell out of me right now and I don’t even know why. It isn’t like he did anything wrong. It’s just his face, the way it seems to have expectation all over it. I start to pace again, saying nothing.

“Okay, so I guess I’ll talk then,” He says, standing up. “Look, I’m flattered, really. Like, super flattered. But you need to understand that this can’t happen. I mean you and me.”

At his words, I let out a little snort, followed shortly by a full-blown laugh. A hearty, watching  _Coming To America_  for the first time sort of laugh, and it goes on a while, probably longer than can be considered tactful in this situation. But I can’t help it. It’s funny, in a tragic sort of way. And maybe laughing is the only way to keep from crying.

“I have to say, you’re being very hard to read right now,” he says.

I rest my hand on a tree, steadying myself while I try to rein in my inappropriate laughter. This is such a disaster, and yet he’s perfectly composed. I straighten up, quiet myself, clear my throat and try to be a normal person for two seconds.

“It isn’t what you think,” I say. “I don’t like you like that.”

He stands up, and I’m reminded again of how tall he is. He has absolutely no business being that tall. When he moves closer to me I think about backing up, but I don’t want him to think he’s intimidating me with the way he towers.

 “I mean, that kiss…

“It was nothing, I was just trying to get Scott to back off.” I cut in before he can finish his sentence.

“Oh,” he says. “Well, I guess it worked, he’s not here.”

“Right, so, I guess I have you to thank for that.”

“Right,” He looks like he’s still searching for words. 

“Look,  I don’t need to know why you wrote the letter, I mean, clearly it’s personal.”

“I didn’t write it.” It’s such a stupid lie, but I wrap it tight around myself like a bulletproof security blanket.

 “Okay, fine, you didn’t,” he says, subtly rolling his eyes. “But I had kind of a crazy idea.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” I ask. And now he’s the one who looks nervous, he pulls on his fingers and taps his big foot on the grass, and for some reason, seeing him like this makes my own racing pulse calm down. At least I’m not the only one freaking out on the inside.

“Maybe, you know, if you aren’t ready to talk to Scott, for whatever reason you’re not talking to him, I can, you know, maybe help with that.”

“How?”

He lets out a quiet sigh, “Okay, how can I put this so it doesn’t seem weird?”

“Trust me, there’s no way you can possibly make this situation any weirder.”

He clears his throat and releases a high pitched, almost strangled sound. “Look, as you know, Felicity broke up with me, and I wasn’t really ready for that. And now I’m thinking, what if there was a way to make her regret it, you know?”

“What are you saying exactly?”

“I mean we can help each other, don’t you think? People saw us kissing, they’re going to talk.”

And just like that, my pulse speeds up again, and I can’t stay still anymore. I have to move to keep up with it. But he stops me with both hands on my shoulders, making me face him again.

“This is a nightmare,” I say.

 “Maybe it doesn’t have to be,” He replies. “Maybe we can both use this to our advantage. I mean, you want to avoid Scott and I want Felicity to take me back, if she thinks I’ve moved on already she’s bound to wonder if she made the wrong choice right?”

“So let me get this straight, you want me to help emotionally manipulate your ex?”

“Well, when you say it like that it sounds bad. And you’re one to talk, you kissed me, remember?”

Well, he’s got me there. Still, what exactly does he mean by us helping each other? I ask him out loud and he shoves his hands into his pockets in response. According to Mr. Bridge, when an interviewee does that it means they’re trying to protect themselves somehow, usually because they have something to hide. But Barry starts in on his idea anyway, and to say it’s a doozy is putting it mildly.

“I think you and I should pretend to date,” He says quickly, squinting his eyes closed and opening them again once the words are out. I jerk back involuntarily. Pretend to date Barry Allen? When I’m already feeling more exposed and ridiculous than I’ve felt in forever?  It’s certainly an idea. I open my mouth to speak again, to tell him that I would never even consider being his fake girlfriend, but coach Taylor calls me from the field 

_“What are you doing West? Get back out here before I fail you!”_

I look at Barry, and for some reason, instead of just flat out turning down his idiotic plan, I say

“I’ll think about it,” and I run back to the field without another word.

****

I consider going home sick for the rest of the day. Because even though gym class is over, there’s one final, gargantuan hurdle to get over today, journalism. It's like I said, Scott and I have always been good at putting our own drama aside for the good of the paper. The time he forgot Linda’s birthday and neither of us were talking to him that week, we still managed to completely slay our student election piece. But that was then, Linda’s not here anymore, and all of the drama is between me and Scott. I walk in slowly and take my seat, hoping against hope that he’ll sit on the opposite side of the room.

The rest of class at least seems to be minding their own business while we wait for Mr. Bridge. They're going through their yellow legal pads scrawled with notes, sipping their coffees from their grown up looking metal thermoses, and all in all, looking too serious for gossip. Except of course the gossip columnist, he’s frantically typing on his smart phone, either texting or whipping up his next piece. He glances up at me and I look back down, I’m not about to spark an idea in that nosy brain of his.

When Scott takes the same table as me, I don’t even have to look up to know what his face must look like, open and dumbfounded.

“Are we going to talk about this Iris?” he asks.

I can’t and I won’t, but not because I’m afraid, or not _just_ because I’m afraid anyway. I need this room to be the one place where I have everything together, where I can be a badass chasing the truth instead of a coward tripping on lies. I turn to look at Scott, and I was right about the face. I’d hoped he wouldn’t be able to be in the same room as me so soon after my liplock with Barry, but he’s obviously over the shock and ready for answers that I can’t possibly give. I stop him before he can start in on me, and I say the only thing I can think to say.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now, right now belongs to the news.”

“Iris—

“I mean it, when we’re in this room, we have to stay professional. Otherwise, how are we ever going to get anything done?”

“But it’s not like you want to talk to me outside of the room either, just tell me what’s going on Iris, please. I mean, Barry Allen, really?”

He sounds so confused, and dare I say, wounded? And I don’t mean to do this to him, I just don’t know how to fix any of this. It was easy with Leo, it was even easy with Barry. I had nothing to lose with either of them. Scott is different, if I tell him that everything in that letter was true, then I can either lose him or lose Linda. I can’t deal with either option, not right now.

“Tomorrow morning,” I say. “Take it or leave it.”

He seems to want to protest more, but Mr. Bridge walks in before he gets the chance, our teacher is already ranting about the copy handed in yesterday, waving pages that are positively gory with red ink in the air. Scott can only nod his head to me in agreement to meet tomorrow. I have no idea what I’m going to say when we do, but at least I don’t have to say it now.

I get through the rest of school and drive to the junior high to pick up Wally without further incident. He's the only member of the male species I feel like seeing or talking to right now. When we finish our homework we’ll watch Stranger Things and I’ll gladly forget that Barry or Scott exist for a while. I wait in the car for him, listening to music and still rejoicing in the school day being over.

at three on the dot, the bell rings and a horde of noisy kids pour out onto the front lawn and parking lot. And when Wally appears among them, he isn’t alone. The girl, Jesse, I think, is walking next to him, laughing at something he’s said.

“Hey sis,” he says. “Did you the text from dad?”

I look at my phone, hooked up to the cigarette lighter charger. A 2 percent battery flashes on the screen.

“No, why?”

“Me and Jesse are studying at her house tonight, her dad’s picking us up in a minute.”

I try not to look disappointed, how sad would that be? I’m a teenage girl. Hanging out with my kid brother shouldn’t be the highlight of my evening, as I've been told numerous times. I try to tell myself that until I can manage a smile and a “have fun, learn a lot,” at that I wave them goodbye, and head toward home.

Dad is watching the game with an afternoon beer when I let myself in the house, and Cecile is on the phone, probably with a client.

“Hey, how’d it go? Blow the lid off of any big scandals or what?” Dad says before swigging his beer

The only scandal I’m worried is my own, but I don’t tell him that, I just shrug my shoulders and head to my room.

Homework is easy as usual, I finish by six. And since _Stranger Things_ is very much a Wally show, I find myself at a loss for what to do with the rest of my time. All I know is that I need a distraction, the clock keeps ticking and before I know it, it’ll be eleven o’clock and I’ll need to get ready for bed. The sooner I fall asleep, the sooner it will be morning and I’ll have to face Scott. I can’t think about that now. I just want to lose myself in some fictional problems for the time being. But I’ve watched everything on Netflix that even halfway interested me over the summer, and all of the books on my shelf have been read and reread.

I think about texting Cynthia instead, because even if the fact that I kissed Barry got back to her somehow, at least she’d find a way to make it funny. If only she weren’t swamped studying for her first physics exam of the year, notorious crammer that she is.

It’s 4 am in England, but part of me wants to skype Linda too. It wouldn't be to tell her anything about the day I’ve had, of course, just to hear her voice and see her face in all its slow, pixilated, glitchy glory on my laptop screen. Actually, what I really want is to be able to Skype Linda without having anything to hide. I want to unsend those letters, unkiss Barry, just undo everything that's been done.

I can’t find the distraction I need after all. When eleven comes, I’m almost painfully aware of it, and I still have no idea what I’m going to say to Scott in the morning. It makes falling asleep more than difficult, but I manage it anyway, and by the time I’m woken up by the sunrise through my window, I let out a loud groan. How is it that I can’t even forget my predicament in the fog of waking up?

I shower and dress slowly, eat breakfast slowly, drive Wally to school slowly, and yet I still make it to my school with time to spare. I expect to see Scott waiting for me in front when I get there, but instead, it’s Barry. Somehow in all of my angst over what I’d say to Scott, I forgot about Barry’s plan entirely. I said I would think about it and I still don’t know why. Temporary insanity is the only reason that seems logical now.

He’s wearing a green flannel shirt today, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his hair is doing that swoopy thing it starts to do when he needs to cut it. He’s also biting his lip like he’s nervous to see me.

“Hey, so, did you give it anymore thought, you know, the plan?” He says.

“You call that a plan?” I ask.

“Yes, and you said you’d think about it.”

“I know what I said,” I pass him and step through the double doors, but he follows.

“So… did you? Think about it?”

I hadn’t, at least not as much as I’d thought about Scott, specifically wanting to avoid Scott and knowing that I couldn’t, but I tell Barry that I did anyway.

“And?” he says, in that expectant voice.

“And I just don’t think it’s the best idea.”

I look at him, and he looks like he’s being rejected for real with the way he frowns.

“I just don’t want to make things even more complicated you know?” I continue.

“Yeah, I get that but—

_“Iris?”_

My stomach drops at the sound of Scott’s voice behind me. I don’t understand how a man’s timing can be this consistently bad. And looking at him now, I am at an even bigger loss for what to say than I was before.

“Excuse me Barry,” I say, and I peel off to meet Scott down the hallway.

“Okay, do you want to tell me just what the hell is going on?” Scott says. “Please don’t tell me there’s actually something between you two.”

I wish I knew what to say to fix all of this. If I tell him that _he’s_ the one I love then I’d be betraying my best friend, if I tell him nothing at all then I’d be losing my other best friend. If I go with Barry’s harebrained scheme then that will only confuse Scott, and me. But maybe that really is the best option. Yesterday Barry's plot seemed crazy, and dumb, but now, with Scott looking at me like that, it’s starting to sound like the reprieve I need from all of this.

“It’s complicated,” I say.

“Seriously?” he looks away from me, rubs his mouth with the tips of his fingers, and puts his hands on his hips before looking me in the eye again. “You can’t stand Allen, and what about that letter Iris?”

God why can’t I tell him? Why is this so hard?

“Somebody must be trying to get back at me, probably Felicity. It all happened really fast, the Barry thing, I mean. I just didn’t want to tell you because I know you don’t like him very much.”

“Come off it Iris, you don’t even like him!” He says it so loud I hope that Barry didn't hear it.

“As it turns out he’s not that bad a guy.”

“So what, you’re just dating Mr. sweatbands now? That’s really how it’s going to be?”

I look back at Barry, still standing there, hope still in his eyes, and I return my attention to Scott.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m telling you now, and I… I have to go.”

“Iris, come on—

But I turn before he can finish, and when he calls my name again it hurts to keep walking. It was harder than I thought, so hard that going with Barry feels like a breeze in comparison.

“Okay,” I say to Barry when I meet him further down the hall. “If we’re going to do this, we have to set some ground rules.”

****

When lunch period comes around, Scott doesn’t try to find me. I think he must be too mad to talk now, which is honestly preferable. I sit with Barry instead, and we try to figure out how exactly we’re going to pull off faking a relationship. We ignore our roast beef sandwiches and stare at each other while somehow trying not to stare at each other. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least.

“So, why did you change your mind?” Barry says first, finally breaking the silence.

“Because as it turns out, telling Scott Evans how I really feel is actually impossible,” I explain. “Maybe because I don’t even know myself, but that’s not what we’re here to talk about, focus.” I tap the sheet of paper in front of him with my pen.

“Right, sorry, ground rules,” he says. “I figure since you’re the more reluctant party here you should go first.”

“Okay, rule number one, no kissing,” I say. He looks taken aback, so much that I almost have to laugh, “What? Is that not fair?”

“It’s just, how are we going to be a fake couple if we can’t kiss?”

“Easy, we can hold hands, you can put your arm around me when we have lunch, you can even pass me notes if you’re really feeling extra.”

“This isn’t middle school Iris.”

I _do_ laugh this time. “What? Are you really that desperate to kiss me again?”

He’s quiet for maybe a second too long, then he says, “fine, no kissing,” he writes it on his sheet of paper. “What else?”

“We can go to parties together, but not prom.”

“Why not prom?”

“Because, we’ll be broken up by then, I’m not doing this past winter break.”

“So I guess the Ski trip’s off then too?”

I shrug my shoulders, I hadn’t planned on doing the ski trip at all, let alone with a fake boyfriend. “We can break up right before, or maybe even sooner than that if Felicity decides she wants you back ahead of schedule.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he writes that down too.

It’s quiet again, in spite of the voices and sounds of sliding trays and squeaking shoes all around us.

“Anything else?” Barry asks.

“That was it, for now, remember that the rules can be amended or added to at any time. Now what about you? Do you have any rules for me?”

If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn there was a tiny smile on his lips at the question.

“I get to drive you to school in the morning,” he says. It sounds innocuous, but at this school, how you arrive in the morning means a lot, it makes sense that he’d mention it.

“No that’s not going to work for me, I kind of love driving, it’s my favorite part of the day.”

“Okay, then you can drive me.”

I mull it over for a second, “Agreed,” I say. “What else?”

“That’s it.”

“That can’t be it, you don’t just ask me to be your fake girlfriend without expecting a little effort, come on, spill.”

“Just…” he trails off and scratches above his ear again, I’m beginning to notice that he does that a lot. He clears his throat and finishes his thought. “Just keep being yourself, I guess.”

“Really? Have you met me?”

He looks me right in the eye, no humor on his face. “Yeah, I have.”

I don’t know why, but my cheeks get a little warm and I look down at my paper to write it down. It’s quite the skimpy list. But something tells me it will get longer as we go. If nothing else, this is bound to be interesting.

**Next Up, Chapter 7: Ex On The Beach**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Ex On The Beach**

On my first day of student newspaper, Mr. Bridge asked each of us, “why are you passionate about journalism?” I’d hoped he’d go alphabetically, so I’d have time to fine-tune my answer, maybe throw in a Christiane Amanpour quote that would really let Bridge know that I meant business, I just had to decide which one. But he called on me first and I stuttered out my non-answer so pathetically that he decided to use it as a teachable moment.

“The first rule of The Central City High Press, always come prepared,” Bridge said over a smattering of giggles. It was the last time I came to class without being a step ahead. And yet, I’ve thought over and over again about what my perfect answer would have been if he would have called on me last.

“I’m passionate about journalism because I’m passionate about the truth,” simple, effective and correct. The truth has always been the driving force behind my chosen career, my whole life actually. So how is it that I’ve found myself caught in a lie this big?

Day one of fake dating Barry Allen, I’ll pick him up from his house like we discussed, and we’ll enter the school holding hands so that confusion can be avoided. I’m nervous, but I can’t tell what kind of nervous I am. I should be anxious and full of dread, which would be the normal kind. Except I’m not, I think, against all odds, I’m the excited kind.

That’s what this feels like, the racing pulse you get right before the first drop of a rollercoaster. Is Barry the reason? No way, he could never have that effect on me in a million years. I think it must be the simple con of it all. I have a passion for the truth, sure, but there’s a big difference between lying and acting. If I were trying to blow the lid off of some big conspiracy, I wouldn’t be above going undercover and playing a role. This is the logic I choose to use. This is simply practice for my future of infiltrating secret spaces through the sheer virtue of my performance.

I head downstairs to the sound and smell of sizzling meat, and I take my seat at the breakfast table. Wally is already shoving toast in his face, and Cecile is on her cell phone, probably with a client.

“Sausage or bacon kiddo?” Dad asks me.

“Yes,” I answer, and reach for the orange juice.

He puts two of each on my plate next to a modest pile of scrambled eggs, and sets my meal in front of me, but before I can dig in the doorbell rings.

“I got it,” I say, thinking I’m the least settled in, and I sprint for the door to answer it.

My smile doesn’t fall immediately when I see Barry Allen on my front porch. I think it takes a second to process that he’s even here, standing a little too close to the doorway to steer clear of the sprinklers.

“Uh, hey Iris.” He says, scratching his ear and clearing his throat. I cross my arms and narrow my eyes at him.

“Can I help you?”

“Well, I thought maybe I’d come to you, you know, save you the trip.”

“The one block trip? Yeah, you’re right that sounds like way more than I can handle.”

He laughs nervously while I roll my eyes, and step aside to clear the way.

“Look who’s here,” I say as Barry and I step into the kitchen.

“Hey there Barry,” dad says, greeting him pleasantly. Dad’s liked Barry ever since he brought over that apple pie our first week on the block. That was over ten years ago, but in dad's defense, it was a damn good pie.

 I feel like dad’s been waiting ever since for me to finally invite him over to breakfast, and maybe I would have if our first kiss had actually amounted to something. Instead, my mom died and he started dating Felicity Smoak. After that, inviting Barry anywhere became the furthest thing from my mind.

“So what brings you by?” dad asks, as we take our seats. My cheeks flame, I wasn’t expecting to actually have to answer that question, not for dad. If I had been thinking I would have added a stipulation to the rules, that our fake relationship could not under any circumstances leave the school. But Barry chimes in before I can scramble for a good answer. So much for my improv skills, but to be fair, I’ve never actually had to go undercover until now. I like to think I’ll get better with practice.

“We’re working on a project together, right Iris?” he says.

“Right,” I answer.

“Oh yeah, what kind?”

“Science,” he says, at the exact time that I blurt out “English.”

“I mean English,” he says at the exact time that I blurt out “I mean Science.”

Dad knits his brow in confusion, while Wally looks like he’s ready to break out the popcorn.

“It’s a science paper,” I explain. “I’m helping Barry with the writing stuff, Barry’s helping me with the Science stuff.”

He seems to accept my explanation, and I help myself to a forkful of eggs so I won’t have to say anymore.

After an awkward breakfast spent discussing an English slash science project that doesn’t exist, we pile into the car. Wally keeps giving me that look that little brothers give, the kind that insists that I’ve got a secret and secrets are fair game to kids.

“Are you guys dating?” Wally asks, not even attempting to beat around the bush. Barry turns his head to face him, and I’m curious as to what he plans to say.

“We’re friends,” Barry says.

“Since when?” Wally answers. “And I already know that school project excuse is a load of crap, dad does too, by the way. I mean he is a detective.”

“Can you maybe look out the window and be quiet?” I say.

“I’m just saying,” Wally continues, leaning forward between our seats. “If you guys are dating that’s totally cool.”

I shake my head and turn up the music, refusing to dignify his prodding with a response. We pull up to Wally’s school an unbearably long few minutes later, and I order him out in spite of his insistence on getting to the bottom of things. It takes the warning bell for him to finally relent and head to class.

“You know, it wouldn’t be the worst thing for your family to think we’re dating, seeing as it’s only temporary and all,” Barry says as we continue down the road.

“Maybe not, but you have to admit you kind of blindsided me back there,” I say. “One more rule for the rule book, no more of that.”

“Got it.”

As soon as we arrive at the school, my heart starts to race. As always the front quad is swarming with people, and I can feel myself going back to the appropriate kind of nervous. He hops out before I can even unbuckle my seat belt, meets me by my door, and opens it for me like the cornball he is. And I have to admit, if it wasn’t Barry, it would be pretty adorable.

“You ready for this?” he asks, holding out his hand for me. I let out a breath, and I put my hand in his.

Walking to the front double doors of Central City High, hand in hand with Barry Allen, is a lot like kissing someone for the first time. And no, I don’t mean in the pleasurable sense— although his hand is warm and wraps around mine with purpose— It’s like a kiss in that it’s scary before it happens, but once it does, you’re too distracted to be scared anymore. It’s already happening, it’s not like I can make it un-happen, so I might as well roll with it.

And yet, there are eyes all around, eyes all over us. People lean over to whisper in each other’s ears and they point, trying not to look like they’re pointing. A few girls huddled near a locker give us the stinkeye, and I know they must be friends of Felicity’s. It’s only a matter of time before the news finds its way to the bespectacled one herself.

“Felicity is going to absolutely despise me isn’t she?” I whisper over to Barry. And I have to admit, I’m just petty enough for the thought to amuse me.

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure she’ll be madder at me than you.”

“I thought you were trying to get her back, why would you want her to be mad?”

“If she’s mad, that means she still cares,” he explains, and I nod because that makes a certain sense.

We continue to walk hand in hand, past the arbiters of certain gossip, until we reach a circle of boys talking amongst themselves. The only one I even vaguely know is Cisco Ramon, a short, cute guy with long wavy hair. I know of him because Cynthia has had a thing for him ever since she caught a glimpse of his abs in freshman gym class, but she refuses to make the first move because that just isn’t something she does. Cisco, high fives the other boys and they peel off before he acknowledges us.

“Whassup my dude?” Cisco says, greeting Barry with one of those overcomplicated bro handshakes that goes on a while and looks like it took an entire weekend to learn. He looks at me next with a wily smirk, then his eyes shift to our intertwined hands.

“So, can I ask how this whole thing went down?” Cisco asks, pointing back and forth between the two of us. And thankfully, that question is something I’m actually prepared for. We’d already discussed what we planned on telling people the day before.

“Barry came over the night after the break-up, he needed someone to talk to and I was there,” I say. It sounds a bit ludicrous, but hardly unbelievable. High school is like a constant game of romantic musical chairs. I wouldn’t be the first girl to catch a guy on the rebound, although the only reason I feel even slightly okay about being in that position is the fact that none of this is real.

“And we ended up talking for hours, and you know, one thing sort of led to another,” Barry continues, and his gaze shifts from Cisco to me. “It just sort of happened.”

“Well okay then, welcome aboard. And don’t let anyone call you a rebound chick okay? The heart wants what it wants.”

I let out a little amused snort, and Cisco reaches into his back pocket to pull out his sleek black phone. “Let me get that info, were hitting the beach this weekend for a little get together and you gotta come.”

“The beach?” I say, looking up at Barry.

“Yeah, you know, place with lots of sand and water. I mean technically it’s a lake but beach just sounds better doesn’t it,” Cisco explains.

“I just wasn’t aware.”

“Well, now you are,” Cisco hands me the phone, and after a moment of pause, I type in my number and hand it back. He leaves us with a confident wink, and I glare up at my fake boyfriend.

“I could have sworn I mentioned it,” Barry says bashfully.

“Whatever,” I groan, slipping my hand out of his. I nearly get all the way down the hall before I turn to address him again. “There better be barbecue!”

“No question,” he promises, and I continue to class.

****

 

I don’t know what Cisco considers a little get together, but by the time Barry and I arrive at the lake on Saturday, it already looks like half of the kids at school are here. It’s so easy for me to forget that Barry is popular.  He probably could have gotten any girl on the planet to participate in this harebrained charade. Why he chose the prickly, difficult coeditor in chief of The Central City High Press is still a mystery to me, surprise kiss on the track notwithstanding. But at least I’m out of the house on a Saturday. Dad couldn’t be happier, and Wally looked so proud of me you’d think he was the older one.

And if we’re being perfectly honest, the idea of being here isn’t the worst one. An afternoon on the sparkly blue water sounds a lot better than some basic bitch kegger party. Also, someone is playing Beyoncé on the speakers, and a Black guy is manning the grill, meaning there are ribs and chicken in addition to hot dogs and hamburgers. But the biggest reason this whole thing could be worse is the fact that Felicity has been out sick for the entire three days I’ve been fake dating her ex, and I have no reason to believe she’s feeling any better. Although at this point, there’s no way in hell she doesn’t know. In fact, her head cold could very well be embarrassment over being replaced so soon.

It’s not in my nature to sink to the level of a catty mean girl, but it’s hard not to when Felicity is concerned. Some people can just stop being friends and move on, but not her, and I guess, if we’re being honest, not me either. She pokes and I poke back. It’s what we do. But I don’t feel like poking today, so I pray to whoever’s up there that she doesn’t show up.

I’m wearing a two-piece under my sundress, and I’m starting to regret it because everyone else is already down to their bathing suits. Some are splashing each other in the lake, others are playing a game of volleyball, their exposed parts bouncing and jiggling.

Barry sets our beach blankets down and promptly takes off his top. I try not to look. He’s skinny, but somehow he still seems strong, solid, defined muscles just under the surface. It’s a good body, and I hate that he has a good body.

“It’s the perfect day for this isn’t it?” Barry says, looking out over the water. He’s right, the sun is steadily beating down, but the heat is broken up with soft breezes that ripple the water and cool my skin.

I let out a relenting sigh, and pull my sundress up over my head, thinking the sooner I go for it the easier it will be. But I immediately realize that I’m wrong about that, because the way he looks at me, or tries not to look at me, makes me want to wrap my arms around myself.

“That’s uh…” He clears his throat and starts again. “A nice suit, it’s, the color I mean. You look good in blue.”

“Thanks.” I say simply.

There’s a guy running past us with a kite, it sporadically catches wind before diving back into the sand again. And that’s a bit how I feel right now, like my reservations are constantly competing with the desire for fun that keeps randomly emerging. I want to splash in the water, dance to Beyoncé, tear into some ribs, but at the same time, I know that this isn’t really my life, this isn’t even the sort of life I want. Cisco Ramon has some squealing girl in a bikini thrown over his shoulder, and he’s running her into the water. I don’t squeal, but then again, have I ever really tried?

I take another deep breath, and decide that if I’m going to be a fake girlfriend, I might as well be the fun kind.

“Okay, what are you waiting for?” I ask Barry.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, shouldn’t you be running me into the lake right about now? Isn’t that what you cool kids do on the weekends?”

“I don’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable,” he says like he means it.

“I’m already uncomfortable. Get me out of my shell a little, what do you say Allen?” I nudge him with my elbow, egging him on before I lose my nerve.

He laughs a nervous laugh, and I notice that his abs flex slightly when he does that, “Well I don’t know it just seems kind of- GOTCHA!”

And the next thing I know, he’s swept my feet out from under me, and is running me bridal style across the sand. It catches me by such surprise I think I might have let out a tiny squeal, followed by full blown laughter. _Go Barry! Go!_ One of Barry’s friends cheer him on. And what is it about throwing girls in the water that teenaged boys find so fascinating anyway? I wrap my arms tightly around his neck before we take the plunge beneath the lake. It’s a little cold, and my hair is going to be an entire mess for the rest of the day, but in an instant I already feel like I’m more a part of this thing, not so out of place and awkward. We pop our heads back up, and I splash him in retaliation.

He shakes the water off and laughs “Having fun?” he asks, squeegeeing the remaining droplets off of his face with his hand.

“Ask me again in an hour,” I answer, and start back toward the shore.

I head toward the beach blanket to towel off my hair. The barbecue smells especially good right about now, and whoever is deejaying is doing a helluva job because Paramore starts up next. I can do this, I can infiltrate the popular crowd with the best of them. And before long, Scott will have forgotten about all of that messy business with the letter, I can go back to my life, and Felicity…

Felicity. Somehow, before I even hear her voice I know that something in the air has changed. Everyone is quieter all of a sudden, and I look up to see her parting the crowd. Her hair is loose around her shoulders and her glasses are nowhere to be seen. Her pink bikini makes her look like Malibu Barbie, and there’s a guy on her arm who can just as easily be mistaken for Ken. He’s tall and built, with jet black hair and the kind of beaming smile that would have toothpaste companies fighting to put him in their ads.

Barry comes up beside me and slings an arm around my shoulder. He’s allowed to do that without having to ask, we discussed it ahead of time, and for some reason, it makes me feel a little less stupid in Felicity’s annoyingly perfect presence.

“Iris, Barry,” She says, not a shred of hostility in her voice, but there’s something else there that I can’t pin down, probably something even worse.

She spider walks her fingers up her date's sculpted chest and lands a palm on his shoulder. “This is Ray, he’s a freshman at CCU.”

“Ray, pleasure to meet you,” Barry says. And I wish he sounded a little cooler about it. He’s here with me, there’s not a reason in the world for him to be jealous, at least not as far as everyone else knows.

“I just wanted to come over here and say that there are no hard feelings, kay? I mean, most girls would be annoyed at their boyfriend’s finding someone new so soon after the break-up, but I’m not most girls. In fact, I’m happy. Now Ray and I can be public.”

“So exactly how long has this been a thing?” Barry asks, his jaw going tight.

“Oh not long at all,” Felicity says. “We were friends first of course, he was in coding camp with me, weren’t you Ray?”

“Yeah I—

“Ray is an amazing coder, the next Zuckerberg, no question.”

“I’m really not—

“So, how is the journalism going Iris?” She says, cutting Ray off again, and the more she talks the more I’m convinced that Ray isn’t here for her at all.

“It’s great, I’m doing a piece on teenaged infidelity,” I say sharply. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

She smiles tightly, a pissed off sort of smile. “No, not at all.”

“Well, I’m glad you guys are happy, Iris, come on,” Barry takes my hand, and we start walking along the shore, where the tiny waves lap over the tightly packed sand.

“I can’t believe her,” Barry says angrily.

“You can’t? Because newsflash, you’re doing the same thing.”

“No way, this is totally different, I’m just trying to make her jealous.”

“Yeah, and did you not see what I saw back there?” I ask, pointing backwards toward the group.

He stops to face me, “What do you mean?”

“She’s trying to do the same thing, it’s so stupidly obvious. I mean, she’s even worse at pretending to be into that guy than you are at pretending to be into me.”

“That’s not fair I am…

“You’re what?”

“I am… good at pretending,” he says, scratching his ear the way that he does. I roll my eyes at him.

“Oh please, you were practically talking through clenched teeth. If you want Felicity to want you back, you have to act like you don’t care who she’s with or what she does, capische?”

He lets out a sharp breath, and nods in agreement, the sunlight flashing in his green eyes. “You’re right. From now on, Felicity Smoak doesn’t exist.”

“Good,” I say. “Now go get me a drink like a good boyfriend.”

He half laughs, half scoffs at me. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”

“What do you know,” I say with a casual shrug. “I think I am.”

 

**Next up, Chapter 8: James, The Boy From Middle School Newspaper**


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